Calypso Directive (8 page)

okay. I'll find it. but I need to tell you something else. when I was in quarantine the doctors told me i was infected. i think they were lying, but i don't know for sure. i might be contagious. i might be a walking biohazard!

Julie:

what are you talking about?

Will:

i've been in quarantine for the past five months. u know the kind with men in yellow bubble suits who talk with Darth Vader voices.

Julie:

sounds to me like you have the flu and a very high fever which is making you delusional.

Will:

i'm a basket case, not a mental case. . . . i'm serious about this. i have no idea what they've done to me. what if i infect you?

Julie:

how can I help u if I can't get near u. do you want my help or not?

Will:

yes, but i wanted to warn u first.

Julie:

i'll try to round up a N95 surgical mask for you to wear. Just try not to bleed on anyone in the meantime. now tell me about your symptoms so i can do a little research before I come.

He rubbed his temples. The itchy maroon scarf was still wrapped around his face, and the stench of his own breath was beginning to make him sick. He hadn't showered or brushed his teeth in days. If Julie did actually come to get him, he could clean himself up. Eat real food. Drink a beer. Thinking about this made his mouth begin to water.

Will:

right now, my symptoms are gone—i'll explain that later, but the frat boys had stomach pain, fever, tons of mucus, and then it seemed to be spreading to their lungs. in quarantine, some of the other patients i caught glimpses of were actually coughing up blood. also, some of them had gross purple bumps on their necks and

He stopped typing. Something had changed. He could feel the weight of another person's gaze on him. He glanced at the front desk. The attendant, a young Czech girl, was pointing at him and talking to a man dressed in a collared shirt, black pants and gray trench coat. The man's lips curled into a thin, malevolent smile—a wolf's grin that made Will blanch.

Will:

LOG OFF RIGHT NOW!

Julie:

What's going on?

Julie:

Will?

Will!

Boston, Massachusetts

A
J ARCHER GLANCED
up at Thomas Ball's statue of General George Washington, seated majestically atop a prancing steed. It was a grand equestrian statue, twenty feet tall and oriented to make an impressionable greeting to all visitors of the Boston Public Garden entering through the Arlington gate. For a late April morning, the temperature was unusually temperate. The morning sun had already knocked the previous night's chill from the air, and some of the park's joggers were even wearing shorts. He skirted around the left side of the statue and selected a path toward the “Make Way for Ducklings” sculpture where he was supposed to meet Briggs. A striking woman wearing a black pantsuit and a white silk blouse caught his attention. As she strode toward him, she flashed him a smile and then shyly averted her eyes. His gaze drifted from her eyes downward. Her liberally unbuttoned blouse flicked open in the breeze, offering him a fleeting glimpse of her ample cleavage.